


dust is all that's left of us

by whithertits



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s05e04 The End, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 21:25:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whithertits/pseuds/whithertits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of The End/2014!Meg.  Written for the Meg Exchange on DW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dust is all that's left of us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alliegodmouth](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=alliegodmouth).



Meg digs her nails into Sam's back as she arches off the bed, the subtle twist of his hips rubbing his cock right along her sweet spot. He laughs, and it's Lucifer's laugh, cold and empty and victorious. He stares down into the depths of her as she's about to come and drags her darkness to the surface; Meg can feel her eyes turn black at the call, and the pleasure warps half-way into pain. In bed, Lucifer reminds her of Alistair, which is a pity—she’d been in Sam’s head, knew how he fucked, had _fucked_ how he fucked, so having it reduced to the cruel parlour tricks of a sadistic angel was… disappointing. 

An invisible hand pushes its way between their clashing hips and rubs against her hood. “Daddy’s sweet little girl,” he coos, “Sweet little demon slut who’s hungry for Daddy’s cock, hmm?” 

It’s everything she ever wanted from him, and she struggles not to roll her eyes. “Fuck, yes, Luci—“ 

“Call me Sam,” he orders. His insubstantial hand pitches cruelly at the delicate skin of her clit. “Or Daddy. I know how you filthy monsters get off on fucking the people that raised you.” 

Meg’s thinks of Azazel, and wonders if Lucifer has ever heard of projection. (Sam had.)

Lucifer rolls Sam’s hips forward, and Meg lets her thoughts drift as she begs. 

***

Meg hasn’t told Sam where he can find Dean. In the search for the elder Winchester, there’s no doubt in Meg’s mind that it’s Sam running the show. It’s probably a shredded, barely functional version of Sam, something close to the remains Meg ignores inside her own meat suit, but Meg knows that Lucifer only has eyes for Michael, and by all reports Uriel is just a few months away from breaking the siege in heaven. Meg wonders if Michael’s form will manifest as Dean when Lucifer comes for him, or if Michael will present as John Winchester, brief as he was hosted there. (She wonders which of the two Sam would rather have pinned beneath him, finally the undisputed alpha male of the Winchester clan.) Lucifer is happy, and so long as the tattered remains of Sam are still looking for Dean, neither are focused on Meg’s coming and goings.

She switched bodies after the first time she spotted Dean on patrol, left the Masters girl to die of thirst or internal bleeding deep inside the forests surrounding the camp, half-hoping the girl would come back as a restless spirit. Meg could use a laugh.

The brunette she adopted in her place was miserable, and so weak willed Meg never even learns her name. She doesn’t mind staying as Meg. Sam knew her as Meg, and Lucifer seems to enjoy its crudeness. 

A new body is the least she can do to stay under Dean’s radar as she goes to visit the last angel on earth.

Castiel. Meg’s never known one of the fallen so young; the only other one she’s met is Lucifer, and he was the First. 

Without his Grace, Castiel has become obsessed with submerging himself in human vice. He gorges himself on the lost hunters who follow Dean into battle and Castiel to his bed. Meg suspects he’s retained more power than he’d let on to Dean, because his host hasn’t aged or softened to match his newfound penchant for gluttony and sloth. More importantly, he can still recognize her despite her new skin.

The compound Dean has made into his base of operations is woefully under protected. There are devil’s traps pressed into the landscape haphazardly in a three mile radius, but no active spellwork, and the traps are not so carefully placed that Meg couldn’t simply walk in, should she so choose. She can’t decide if Dean’s planning suicide-by-demon, or has gotten careless as his life unravels. Meg doesn't bother to give it much thought beyond the fact that it allows her to visit Castiel.

There’s a woman leaning against the door to his rooms when Meg approaches, smoking a hand rolled cigarette. Her eyes heat as Meg approaches. 

“You new?” she asks, and takes a drag. Meg can smell the faint odor of fresh sex on her.

Meg smiles, charming and practiced. “Old friend,” she says. She tilts her head and puts on an expression of cautious consideration. “Do you want to join us?”

The woman’s eyes light up, and she trails her eyes down the curves of Meg’s meat suit; despite the heat in her gaze, she shakes her head. “No. I’m up for patrol in an hour, and already need to shower.” 

It’s true. Meg can smell the bitch is still wet, probably dripping Castiel’s spunk out of her cunt right now. Meg smiles, sweetly. It probably has an edge to it, despite her best efforts. “Maybe next time.”

She opens the door and sweeps in, the hunter outside already forgotten. Castiel is splayed out on the bed, stinking even worse than his whore. 

“Busy as always, I see,” she says, and the repulsively human jealousy she feels is audible in her voice. It’s a pointless emotion; she’s still sore from Sam’s cock, and has no claim on Castiel’s body. She should feel grateful one of the Host, even almost-fallen, would grant her more than a cleansing. 

If she were human, maybe she’d feel that way. Feel _grateful_. 

“Thorny as ever,” Castiel says to ceiling. He’s drugged; Meg can smell the sweet tang of herb on the air, overlaying the fading smell of sex. His eyes clear as he raises himself into a sitting position, and the intensity of his gaze rattles at the walls where Meg has caged her emotions. Their gazes lock. Meg is the first to turn away.

“If you were human, you’d be destined for Hell at this rate,” Meg says, shifting her attack. 

“If I were human, I’d be dead by now a dozen times over.” A brooding expression falls over his face. “The gates to Heaven are sealed; there is only unrest, or the Pit, now.”

Meg sneers. “Let the humans rot. They deserve it. They've perverted this world, and Lucifer’s light will—“

Castiel slaps her across the face. The sound of feathers settling fills the room, and then fades. “Do not call upon the Morning Star in my presence,” he bites out.

Meg licks her lips, and tastes blood where Castiel has split them. “Is that it takes to get you out of bed, _Cas_?” she asks, sweet as poison. “Does Dean know the only thing between you and the front lines is a few well-placed mentions of your siblings?” She laughs, and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “He probably couldn't stomach it himself. I'm sure Sam is a touchy subject for him.”

Castiel visibly wilts, and turns away from her. Victory is bitter. It’s exactly what she wanted, exactly what she imagined he would look like, the fight crushed out of him. Seeing it makes her sick. This new world gives her everything she ever wanted, and all it does is make her want to scream. 

“I do not understand why you insist upon turning your visits into a trial,” Castiel says as he stoops down to retrieve a water pipe from underneath his opulent bed. He’s still naked; Meg remembers a time when that fact would have stirred her. 

Meg is silent, and the hunches, and crosses her arms. “The siege is not going well. The Gates won’t last much longer.” She inhales, and ignores the scent of sex, focusing instead on the fact that it smells of Castiel. “Lucifer has started killing demons. He’s—hoarding souls, in the Pit.”

“He intends to challenge God,” Castiel says, a simple statement of fact. “He wants to unmake the universe.” 

“He’ll remake it,” Meg says. It’s an old belief; it’s what Azazel always told her, that He would come and remake the world.

The bark of Castiel’s laughter fills the room, then goes silent. He turns back to her, an incredulous smile on his face. “Do you really believe that?” 

_No_. “Maybe,” she says.

Castiel shakes his head. “Come here,” he says, and beckons her to him. He lays back down on the bed, not trying to hide his nakedness, content in his skin in a way Meg hasn't been since she’d had it peeled from her body when she was alive. She goes to him. She will never understand how he can stand to touch her. 

Castiel wraps his arms around his waist, and she can feel his wings as they expand to cover them both. “You are so young, still,” he says, drawing her body tight against his own. 

“I’m not,” she says, and lets her head rest against his shoulder. Her relaxes, and feels her eyes flip to black, the closest thing to a true form she has, now. 

Castiel doesn't answer, just rubs his hands down her back in a soothing caress. “This world is destined to burn,” he says, and Meg shivers at how much he sounds like his brother. “We cannot stop it. Not now. Pretending otherwise is for dreamers and madmen.”

“I wish I were mad,” Meg confesses.

Castiel sighs, and tightens his grip. “I wish I could learn to dream.” 

Dreaming is for fools.

Meg returns to Lucifer the next day. He draws her to him, and laughs as he leaves bruises on her skin. 

This world is nothing like she dreamed it.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Gotye's "Eyes Wide Open".
> 
> Please R&R, I do so love feedback. :)


End file.
